Emptiness is Beautiful But So is Warmth
by Natomania
Summary: Well, it started off just as a rambling of some depressing thoughts because I was in a rotten mood. Then it somehow became Russia, I guess, and Russia/France somehow. I was listening to the song "You Are The Moon" by The Hush Sound while making this. Rated T because it's a bit on the depressing side. Then again I'm just too cautious! Haha, anyway, I hope you enjoy it!


When did everything become so lifeless? So dull, so gray. I want my feet to slip into the cold pool of water below me. The sting of the water feels good. With the help of gravity, I plunge into the cold, painful darkness. Painful, no it's not painful. Instead it's great. It feels wonderful. I'm alone, completely alone, as I drown, and that's astoundingly enchanting and magical. I can't breathe yet I'm laughing. The air is replaced with the icy water yet I continue laughing. I can't be heard, the only signs of my laughter are the air bubbles making their way to the surface. People must think I'm struggling to believe, how foolish of them. Believe? Believe what? Live, I must've meant live. Why would I want to live? To believe in ideals and to believe in others... this memory seems so familiar. Laughter. I used to believe laughter cured everything.

Then I stopped laughing, and I had lost my cure.

Cures, illnesses. My doctor said I had one; the doctor in my mind, that is, told me. I never saw a real doctor. I never told anyone. Telling others meant opening myself. It meant I would trust them. Everyone would treat me like an animal, a porcelain figure, something that needs to be kept safe and contained, away from others, held to a lower standard, fragile...Fragile, when did I break so easily? I never broke though, no one thought I had broken therefore I never did. I can hear the muffled noises and chatter above the water, everyone thinks I'm fighting to breathe, to resurface, and hands are reaching out to me from above.

But I'm damned; there is no place on heaven or earth for me. I'm hilarious though, since when did heaven exist? Haha. Hahahaha. Neither does hell. So where I am going, I don't know. The hands are up above from where? I won't go to them. I'll let the other hands pull me down. however there is a catch. There are no hands pulling me down.

I am letting myself sink.

I can't see anything now, it's pure bliss, ecstasy even. The tingling feeling, this freezing shiver, runs up and down my spine, to my arms, my neck, slowly making it's way to my head. I'm frozen in time, for eternity. No one can hear me, and the noises stop. Nothing. I can't hear them. My own mind turns blank, yet not a white blank. A dark shadow engulfs it.

And then a pin drops. I can hear it.

Another one. And again, more pins. Each one is hitting the ground with a different noise. It's horrible; it's atrocious, because it's beautiful. Because it's music. Odd bell-like noises, light soft sounds as the pins drop, hitting the black floor, sending out ripples of something foreign. It's not foreign though. It's just old. Hope, love. Old things like that, they really carry nothing with them. I need to stop the pins from falling, and I need to stop bells from ringing. I want the silence; I need it. I can't feel anything, but only if the music stops. Otherwise I'll feel the warmth. No, not warmth, a fire. I'll feel a burning fire surround and envelop me. A sensation so hot I'll scream and shrivel up from the sheer heat. I can't let that happen.

A gunshot rings out. The pins stop, the bells aren't there. I'm not holding the gun. It was shot at me. But I'm not bleeding, it's even worse.

The icy layer surrounding me was cracked from the bullet. No, no, no, it can't! It can't crack, if it breaks, I'll break with it. I want that though. I want to shatter into pieces. Then be swept away, and buried, and never thought of again. Complete solitude, complete happiness.

But why do I feel a dull aching from this idea of this happiness?

Now, yet another hand, the hand that fired the gun is held out to me. i might dare to reach for it. I could stay in my tundra forever, and laugh and laugh as I freeze. I could smile and sit in the snow during the blizzards without anyone to bother me. No sounds, nothing. Eternal quiet. Eternal frost.

If I grab the hand I'll cry. I'll cry, and smile, and shout, and yell, and laugh, and breathe, and sing, get sick, play games, break things in anger, draw art, play music, run, jog, skip, and feel an overwhelming sense of warmth. I'll feel love again. If I hold this hand, I'll live. I don't want to live.

Now is a good time to say I'm a bad liar.

I want life. I'm going to reach for it. I'm going to pull myself out. My heart starts beating, but when did it stop? I don't remember. I'm scared, and thrilled. I want to smile, and I am; yet I'm also crying. And I can hear someone else's heartbeat, and he has a hand on my back now. The chills from my spine go away, and in place there's warmth.

Why is he so kind to me? I have never done anything to warrant such kindness. He shouldn't care. He should hate, better yet, detest me. He should want me to rot and freeze to death. Instead he's hugging me, and I'm crying. I'm tangling a hand into his long, silky blond hair, and crying into his shoulder, getting his silk clothing stained with my tears. I can feel his tears too. They must look like crystals falling from a blue sky. But since when did crystals fall from the sky? Raindrops, they are raindrops falling from the sky.

I can't let go of him, and he isn't letting go of me. He needs me. I need him. I think we're both broken.

Maybe I helped broke him, when he tried to take over the barren lands of my country. Or maybe he helped break me, when my people burnt my land to stop the enemy from using it.

We shouldn't be compatible. We both know this, yet we stay silent. We have empty holes inside of us, and we want to fill them.

We want the warmth.

We need it.


End file.
